Just Harry
by jinxedlies
Summary: Harry has been falling into a pit of depression. His relatives are cruel and his godfather was dead. A visit from Bellatrix in the middle of the night awakens a new power and decreases his will to live. Will the order find their hero in time?


**I have no clue why I wrote this in the first place, let alone actually publish it where anyone can read it. Well, too late now. I want to warn any of the readers of my previous stories that this is darker than anything I've ever written. It's not bad considered to what I've read before, but there is self-harm/cutting and a character death. If you don't like, don't read. I would like someone to give it a try though, it would make me feel a lot less nervous if they did. Be warned!**

* * *

Harry Potter, also known commonly as The-Boy-Who-Lived and Savior of the Wizarding World, was absolutely stuck on what to do.

It was an ordinary quiet night on Privet Drive, as the entire street was asleep and dreaming up their own muggle dreams. If you were to look within any window on that street you'd see a person asleep in their bed, or a hopelessly empty living room and such. This, however, did not include Harry Potter, who'd arrived at the Dursley's from Hogwarts only a week earlier, though most of the muggles believed he was home from a painful year at St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys. What the neighbor's didn't know was that most of the pain was really directed from the blasted Dursley's themselves. And Harry couldn't do a single thing about it.

From where he sat on the bed, a stack of papers drew his eyes and he scowled at the one that appeared on top-- The Daily Prophet. Rita Skeeter was in action and, once again, Harry had the feeling her articles weren't the least bit true, and if they it would be on the borderline between the truth and many, many lies.

Beside the wizard paper, two letters sat, untouched by Harry. He wasn't sure if he wanted to read what Ron and Hermione wrote to him about--they'd never written to him so soon after arriving home from Hogwarts. His lip twitched, as if he were going to smile. They were most likely writing to make sure that the Dursley's weren't mistreating him...well, Hermione would be anyway.

"I might as well get this over with before Hermione panics and tells everyone I'm dead because I haven't responded to her letter."

He picked up the first one--Ron's of course.

_Harry,_

_Ho_w a_re you doing so far this summer? Are those muggles mistreating you at all? No offense mate, but I'm only writing this because Hermione's staying at the Burrow for today and is constantly prodding me. Reminds me of Moody and his Constant Vigilance thing he always said...Might not be able to write many letters, Harry. Somethings going on with the Order...The Chudley Cannons are doing well this year. They could win the cup._

_Ron_

Short and to the point--so like Ron. Harry was confused, though. Even Ron was usually able to write letters a little longer than this one...and what was important enough that someone wouldn't be able to send out letters for an entire summer break?_ Lots of things...like Voldemort_. Harry admitted in his head. The Boy-Who-Lived wasn't even as important as defeating Voldemort, or was it sort of the same importance? Judging by the Prophecy he'd heard in the Ministry of Magic, it was likely...

But still, surely they could smuggled a few letters to him.

He shook his head to clear the thoughts. He'd better get to Hermione's letter. After all, she was the one who would hang his head on a post if he didn't reply within a decent amount of time. And there was a large chance she would be expecting him to write back a nice...lengthy letter back to her.

_Harry,_

_I daresay Ron got his letter to you first...you may thank me for that when we return to school this year, or perhaps a return letter? Don't be like Ron. He was so sure he'd get away without writing you for an entire summer. I'm here with his family for the day--my parents are busy, though I'm not sure what it is their busy with...never mind. _

_Are the Dursley's treating you as they should--like you're a human? I'm quite tired of them acting so superior. It gives you a whole new reason to want to use your wand outside school without penalty. It's terrible, not being able to use spells for now. I found an interesting book and I want to try some of them out right now. Do you suppose Dumbledore could lift the restrictions for a day? Hmm, no, he wouldn't. I'll pretend I never asked that. _

_It's busy here at the Burrow and Ron is much more confused than I. Perhaps it's his anger showing...his whole family seems to know what's going on while he doesn't...with the exception of Ginny of course. He's overreacting, I believe. Voldemort's probably attacked another wizarding family. It always get this hectic when something terrible like this happens. I'm going to let him get nervous...maybe it'll teach him to use his brain._

_Well, Harry, I can not wait to see you at Kings Cross on September 1. A new year...6th! Have you received your O.W.L's yet? I've already started to study for out NEWTs in seventh year._

_And as Ron might have written, I can't see any way I'll be able to get any letters to you. Just hold on. Hogwarts is just a couple weeks away._

_Hermione _

Hermione couldn't write any letter either, though he did have to agree that it was probably just another family being attacked that had worked Ron up so much.

Harry sighed, wishing the Underage Magic restriction would simply disappear. It would have been so much easier that way...Apparently, along with not being able to practice magic outside Hogwarts, it was also not allowable to maintain any spells cast over themselves at Hogwarts...including glamour spells, which Harry knew he needed to keep his secret a, well, a _secret._

Without the glamour, he was a mess and he knew it well. Scars--some of which were over a foot long-- winded themselves around Harry's arms and legs, making him appear fragile. An odd tint of red lay on his fingers from past experiences of his uncle Vernon in a rage who had, many times, broken Harry's fingers for the fun of it or because he was angry and wanted to punish someone else for his own failure. This person was Harry every time. If someone were to get a glimpse of his back, they'd have sworn that be was attacked by a vicious bear, or something of that form. His back was lined with red ridges that rose slightly, and painfully at times, out of his back. Though the slash marks did resemble bear claws, Harry knew perfectly well that they were not. In fact, they were from a whip hidden in Vernon and Petunia's room, at the back of their closet. Harry's face wasn't too bad, though it did have some evidence that violence had already been inflicted on the boy just that summer.

He'd long since given up the hope that Dumbledore would take him away from this cruel muggle home and give him to the Weasley's, or someone else who knew of the wizarding world and could help him deal with all these loses he'd been forced to endure. Oh, the best would have been Sirius...

_No,_ Harry gasped to himself, shaking slightly. _I won't think about him... I can't think about Sirius and how it's completely my fault he died...He'd be alive right now if I wasn't mental enough to believe that _they_ really had him in such a tight spot. Sirius wouldn't have been that stupid..._

It appeared to Harry that he was ignoring his own well-given advise, which was by the way, to pretend it never happened and he never knew a man named Sirius Black. It didn't seem to be working though. All the memories flew back to him...including the most painful one. Sirius falling through the veil...a satisfied smile still in place...

Harry groaned and pushed himself off the bed. There was no chance at sleeping now, that was for certain. His body protested at the sudden movement and he grimaced, wishing once more he could use magic. But, either way it wouldn't help him. He wasn't a healer and the Dursley's definitely didn't have any potions stocked up for a young wizard.

"Blasted muggles." Harry muttered under his breath, eyes flashing as he leaned carefully against the bars on his window. He didn't care to injure himself more than he already was.

The Dursley's were even worse this year. In the previous years after Harry returned from Hogwarts they would leave him alone for a little while except for chores. This year, however, everything had changed. Something about Vernon losing his job...and how it was Harry's fault because of his 'freakishness'. He didn't bother to tell them that magic wouldn't work from Hogwarts all the way to Surrey, but they wouldn't listen anyway, so what was the point?

What was the point of doing any of this? It was obvious that Dumbledore had been playing Harry ever since he'd arrived at Hogwarts. He was simply a tool to the old man...nothing more, nothing less. He didn't see the boy inside the outer shell that wished he could simply be free and unnoticed by the rest of the wizard population. He didn't want his hand shook the second he walked in the door.

No one could see that, what Harry yearned for the most was to be a normal boy.

Well, that wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

Either way, he couldn't afford to be normal. If he even attempted it, the wizarding world would fall to Voldemort and his Death Eaters in Harry Potter absence. If too many more died because of his own self, he wasn't sure if he even wanted to live to tell of the second war.

His eyes flew open as he heard the locks click simultaneously. If not for the fact that it was impossible for one person to unlock five locks at the same time, he wouldn't have been worried. However, this was a sign of magic. He reached for his wand and narrowed his eyes as he remembered that it was downstairs in the closet under the stairs so he couldn't practice magic in the Dursley's perfectly _normal_ house.

The door swung open and any hope that it was a good witch or wizard disappeared. He dived out of the way of a spell cast directly at him. He watched in reflected off the wall and flickered from existence. A person dressed in usual clothes of a Death Eaters, including the sickly white mask, stood in the doorway, a mutilated smile on their face. "Is wittle Potter scared?"

"_Lestrange._" Harry immediately wished he had his wand again. This was Bellatrix, the person who was able to kill her own cousin and still laugh at them as Sirius fell through the veil...This was the person he hated with every fiber in his body. Harry wanted to kill her so badly, but he had no wand.

Bellatrix Lestrange cast another spell, but it seemed to purposely missed him, so he stayed froze, staring at the woman who'd killed his godfather so cruelly, tortured the Longbottoms until they reached insanity, and had done many other things he was positive she was responsible for but had never been pinned to her name.

Lestrange seemed unfazed by the missed spell and Harry put up his guard up to full alert. It was obviously something that would help her capture him and take him to Voldemort. "_Crucio_!" Bellatrix shouted,enjoying herself immensely.

Harry gritted his teeth and dropped to the ground, the torturing curse flying mere inches above his head. He stared at the curse as it flew by, wanting...

His eyes widened as the curse rebounded off the wall and sped back towards Lestrange. who had no time to dodge it. She fell to the ground, not screaming in pain as she should have been. She lay in his room, unconscious.

Harry gulped. This kind of thing was no suppose to happen...the curse missed it target so it should have disappeared when it touched the wall. It most certainly shouldn't have rebounded and hit it's originator. If that somehow did happen, shouldn't Lestrange be screaming in pain? Or was it all a trap...?

Harry didn't want to stick around to find out.

He stared at his hand, wondering whether it was him who'd influenced the spell to somehow turn on the wand that cast it. If so, then he should he able to wandless magic...but wasn't that supposed to be impossible? Hadn't Hermione told him that one time after reading _Hogwarts, A History_?

"I ought to try..." He whispers, not eager to get close enough to Lestrange to check to see if she was really out cold. "_Stupify."_ He whispered. A red light shot out of his hand and hit Bellatrix. There was no change. She really was out like a light. "Amazing."

When he realized how much freedom he had, his first thought was to celebrate. He had a way to do magic and not even the Ministry of Magic, nor Professor Dumbledore, could track it. Perhaps that wasn't good good thing though...what would the Death Eaters do if they captured him...?

Harry took a quick gulp of air, ignoring the hurt in his stiff limbs. He had to get out of here. So far Bellatrix had arrived, meaning the rest of Voldemort's most loyal servants wouldn't be too far behind. There was a large chance Voldemort himself would be there too and Harry didn't feel up to a battle with the most power-hungry wizard in the world. Dying wouldn't be so terrible, but he didn't fancy being tortured first. In a few short, but quiet, strides down the stairs, he magically unlocked his cupboard.

Harry shoved his school trunk to the side--it was too large to take with him. However, first he grabbed his wand, invisibility cloak, the Marauder's Map, his photo album, and the Firebolt--which was, after all, the only way he could travel except for the method of foot. Walking wouldn't get him anywhere in his current position.

He focused his magic on conquering up ropes that immediately set to binding Lestrange from head to foot. At any other time, he knew he should be glad that he'd gotten Bellatrix out of the way--even if only for a little while. He let the ropes finish their jobs as he mentally stared at the window. Over the summer, the Dursley's had painted over it, so he used his new magic to crack the new paint and slam the window open, making sure to muffle the sound first.

He had a matter of minutes to get out of the house before the Dursley's came to check on the racket he was making and he didn't want to be their when they saw the murderous woman laying on his floor.

Suddenly, a large explosion made the house sway, knocking Harry off his feet. Bellatrix shifted, already about to come to. The Death Eaters were here.

Could his life really get any worse? He didn't want to have to deal with any of this right now. His godfather had died because of Harry's own stupid actions. He'd been told not believe his dreams. If only he'd listened to Hermione that night instead of taking the task upon himself. He had no will to fight at that moment.

_The Order will be here soon. I have to leave...now. They can't find me like this._

A few hours later he found himself in the woods near Surrey. They were dark and cold with the coming night; the only light was small pinpricks filtering through the heavy branches. The sole human being was hunched over, deciding his own fate. No one knew he was here yet, but the soon wizards would be flooding the forest in an attempt to find and help him. Harry didn't want to be found. No one knew what had happened to the boy-wizard in the last few months; somehow not even Dumbledore figured it out.

He sat with his photo album in front of him, his parents smiling and waving as his mother held a baby--Harry. The picture was labeled the day before the attack on Godric's Hollow. They had no idea that soon he would be left alone with only a mothers blessing to protect him from an evil, sadistic wizard intent on spilling his blood. Seeing them like this hurt more than not having any memories of them.

His lip twitched into a rare smile as he watched a separate photo of just his parents at their wedding. "If she saw me now, Hermione would tell me I was being rash and stupid. Ron would just yell and call me a 'Bloody idiot'. I guess I am. But I don't want to live like this. My mother's love doesn't protect me from the Dursley's. Voldemort even makes life in the wizarding world hard for me. I don't expect them to understand. I just want them to know that I never wanted to hurt them by doing this. I hope they can see that being with you again is more important to me, even if I'm being selfish."

In his hands he held a knife he'd stolen from Dudley sometime ago, before fifth year to protect himself when magic wouldn't help him. Harry closed his eyes, feeling the wind caress his face for the last time. "Please forgive me." It was addressed to everyone, but not everyone would be so adamant. He knew that and had accepted already it. Instead of dwelling, he pulled the picture from it's place in the album.

A small sigh escaped his lips as he pressed the blade firmly against his wrist, watching a small drop of blood well to the surface. This had been something he wanted to do for so long, but he no courage to enforce it. Now he did. Voldemort wouldn't kill him, this would be his own doing. All of it. If they didn't have that final battle, the task would be on someone who had training, _true_ training. Not just a few years at Hogwarts. If Harry and Voldemort didn't battle, then the prophecy would cancel itself out; it had to. He'd spent days thinking up his theory.

Blackness swam before his killing curse eyes, and he smiled. There was no pain—only peace.

A pink haired woman stepped from the darkness, kneeling by the still boy, her eyes filled with unmistakable grief. "Oh, Harry." She shifted the hair covering his forehead, revealing the scar. "I never realized it was this hard. None of us did." Tonks lifted her wand hand, shooting out red sparks. Lupin arrived only seconds later, falling to his knees beside his best friend's fallen son. The younger woman took a step away from them, her attention falling to the picture Harry was clutching with a strength only the dead possess.

In it, James and Lily Potter held little baby Potter, smiling happily from where the were crowded in the corner, because of the crimson red blood covering the left half. They stood there, unknowing that their son would be joining them shortly. "I really hope your happy Harry," Tonks whispered, wishing she'd known the Boy-Who-Lived just a little better. "Because no one here will be."

* * *

Far away, a black haired teenager ran forward, embraced by his angels, Lily and James. His skin was unmarred, even by a lightning bolt. He was not the savior anymore. Here, he was Harry.

Just Harry.


End file.
